Even Through Snow
by The-Grim-Prince
Summary: Even though America and England get together around the holidays, there's bound to be arguments. This particular one happened during a blizzard at America's house. Does England really think that he can walk home? It will take a hero to fix this... USUK


((I've done another story that involves snow. Lol

I just came up with this idea. Just now. Ima.

Anyways, since I don't have anything important to say, fanfic commence!))

:::

The snow was still coming down really hard. There had to be at least two to three feet of snow blanketing the ground and anything stuck outside. The snow had kept up for the past two days, sometimes lightening up, but never stopping. Not even the snowplows had the patience to keep the streets clear.

It was dim outside from the heavy cloud cover, despite the fact that it was only 2pm when England was looking out the window from the comfort of America's suburban home. All of this terrible weather was annoying him. It must have been some sort of karma, from insisting to his boss on visiting Alfred to make up for missing Christmas _and_ New Year's with him. True, he had wanted a break, but he only expected to stay at America's house for a weekend. Not for five days! The work would be more than piling up in his office at this point.

Not even the mug of tea (America broke the tea cups that England got him last year) that he was holding onto could calm his nerves when thinking about all the work that came with a new year. It was ridiculous.

"England! I want to go sledding!" America shouted with glee as he rushed into the room, holding his sled in front of him. He wasn't able to see anything in his path from behind the large sled, even the perturbed Briton. Alfred accidentally slammed into Arthur, sandwiching him between the wall and the bright blue sled. On impact, he dropped his mug of tea all over himself and the floor.

"Damnit, Alfred! What are doing?! Get off of me!!!" He was able to squeeze out of the small space, checking the damage done to his shirt.

America smiled at him as he repeated, "I want to go sledding! Come on, we should go!"

"That's a bullocks idea, both of your cars are completely buried," Arthur spat, pointing out the window. "There are no hills close by, and I will not let you go out in this shoddy weather anyways."

"… I can sled off my smaller car," America suggested.

"What part of 'I won't let you go out' do you not understand?" England asked. "I need a new shirt…" He stormed off to his guest room to look in the drawers and cabinets. They were completely empty. And his suitcase was full of clothes that had worn already. Arthur returned to the living room, where Alfred was sulking on the couch.

"Where are all the 'just in case' clothes in my room's drawers?" England asked.

"They're dirty downstairs," America answered with a pout.

"What about the plain white shirt?" Arthur inquired.

"You got drunk one night and threw up all over it, remember?"

"W-well, the light blue one with the white collar?"

"You threw up on that, too."

"The green vest?"

"I splashed you with mud accidentally when I picked you up at my airport."

"The white polo shirt?"

"I threw spaghetti at you one night to tease you."

"The orange polo shirt that I hate."

"I used it as a dust rag 'cause you don't like it."

"That obnoxious 'I love London' hoodie you bought me?"

"You puked on that when you had a stomach bug at my house. You ruined the other upper garments from that incident, too."

"So… You have a pile of my dirty clothes… in your basement… in front of your washing machine… accumulating there over the past year?" England asked, fearing an answer.

"Actually, they're at the foot of my stairs down there," Alfred simply answered with a shrug.

Imagining that pile of dirty clothes festering in a basement over the course of a year was revolting. "Wait, do you wash your own clothes?" Arthur realized, fearing an answer for that, too.

"Yeah. I think I got used to stepping over your clothes, though. I don't even notice it anymore."

England brought his hands to his face and ran his fingers through his hair while letting out a hiss of frustration. "Bloody hell, Alfred! That's absolutely DISGUSTING!!!"

"I was going to get around to it…"

"I'm more upset with the fact that you just let them ferment there rather than just tossing them out! Do you have any idea how sick you could have gotten from that?!"

"I stepped over the pile…" America whined.

"Do you ever realize when you're doing something wrong? You can be so irresponsible at times!" England lectured him.

"You know, I'm not a little kid anymore… I can make my own decisions," Alfred complained, getting a bit upset.

"Are you sure? Because I feel that I'm babysitting you every time I come here!"

"If you feel like that, then don't come here anymore!!!" With that, Alfred yanked his sled up off the floor and walked towards his front door without looking at his guest.

He slipped on his snow-boots without tying them, them headed outside into the snow in his jeans and a light sweatshirt. He didn't even look back as he trudged through the snow to his driveway. With determination, America ignored the cold as he reached his sedan. He put his sled up on the hood, then walked to the trunk side. It was a bit tough, since the snow was almost higher than his knees. The snowflakes were catching on his glasses and hair at the same time. Getting a good foothold on the bumper, he hoisted himself up onto the trunk.

As he made it to the roof, he noticed Arthur walking up to him. Or rather, past him. He had simply pulled on a jacket and some earmuffs, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Alfred asked.

"I'm going home," Arthur spat.

"But it's snowing!" England kept walking. "It's really cold out!" He reached the end of the driveway. "There's an ocean between us! An ocean!!!" America shouted out to England as he stood on the roof of his car. "Atlantic… ocean…"

With a frustrated huff, Alfred sat on his sled, and pushed off. As he slid down the windshield, the front of the sled caught on something, and he flipped forward. America was sent rolling off his hood and into the snow. Struck by the cold, he quickly stood up and shook the snow off his head and shoulders. Some of it worked its way down his shirt.

America looked down the street to see if England was actually serious about walking home. Through the deep snow, he actually made it to the end of the block. And wasn't turning back.

Well, these clothes were a bit too wet and cold to go chasing after him. America left his sled on the hood of his car to go inside.

A few minutes later, he was geared up for winter in Alaska. He wore thick gloves, earmuffs, winter goggles over his glasses, and a heavy winter jacket with a '50' drawn in sharpie on the back. It made up for the fact that he couldn't wear his favorite bomber jacket in the cold.

England had chewed him out for ruining another perfectly fine article of clothing.

Alfred wondered if he should really go after Arthur. With the snow getting heavier, he should be turning back at any point. Retreating to his former colony's warm house. Yet… America wanted to be there when he gave up and turned around. He loved to see England's face when embarrassed.

Alfred gave chase. He quickly walked through the snow on the sidewalk, able to see the older nation far, far ahead of him. He walked a bit quicker, but then slowed down. What would be funnier? Arthur's surprised face, or his embarrassed face?

Whatever~

America actually continued following him, even as the sky grew darker, and the air thicker with snow. England was still a spot up ahead.

But… it was getting harder to see him.

Alfred walked a little faster as he felt his stomach tighten a bit. Why hadn't the stubborn nation turned back yet? Why was he still going? It was getting so dark… The streetlights weren't on yet. And the wind was starting to pick up. It was cold… He couldn't see Arthur in front of him anymore. It was practically impossible for someone with perfect vision to see through this weather. The wind had a real bite to it. And still, Arthur hadn't turned back? How mad was he really? What if he was lost? What if he hurt himself? What would happen if he didn't turn back? What if America couldn't find him? What would happen if England was left in the cold through the night?

Would-

America's thought process was immediately interrupted as he tripped over something, stumbling forward into the snow. He looked back to see what he could have possibly tripped over.

Oh, England.

The Briton was just lying there in the snow, partially buried to the heavy snowfall. Alfred reached over to brush the snow out of the golden blonde hair. He opened one green eye to wearily stare at the larger nation.

"I knew y-you were following me," he muttered.

"Why didn't you say anything?" America asked, a bit confused.

"… I w-wanted… to see how far I… could lead a jackass w-without a rope," he answered, closing his eyes as the wind picked up.

Alfred laughed at that, amused by the 'joke'. "Okay, England. It's time to go home," he said with a beaming smile that could melt ice.

"… C-can't move…"

"Eh?"

"I can't… m-move. It's too c-cold…"

"Oh I see."

They went silent for a bit. Then England finally said, "I need help…"

Listening to Arthur say that made Alfred's day. With that, he reached over to grab England by the shoulders to sit him up. America shimmied forward a bit, then slung the other's body over his shoulders. Like a Sheppard carrying a little lamb, he stood up and started walking in the direction of his house.

"S-stop it…" Arthur whined.

"Make me."

". . ."

England was silent the rest of the way, until America got to the door.

"Hey, England! Guess what?" Alfred asked as he stopped abruptly.

"What is it, you little twat…"

"Uh… I just remembered that I forgot my keys inside. Isn't that funny?" he asked.

"… If I c-could move my l-legs, then I would k-kick you right now. But I'll h-have to w-wait until we d-die of hypothermia. Then I'll kick you in _h-h-hell_," Arthur threatened.

"Just kidding!" Alfred reached for the handle and turned it to open the door and enter the warm shelter.

America sighed in relief as the hot air hit him and wrapped around his cold body. It was a wonderful feeling. With the utmost care, he shifted England off his shoulders, sitting him on the floor. Alfred closed his front door and began to remove all his winter gear. As he removed his jacket, he noticed that his guest had flopped to the floor at some point, instead of sitting up.

"Wow, you really can't move, can you?" America mused.

"Leave me alone…" England grumbled.

"I could do whatever I wanted with you, and you couldn't even resist~"

". . ."

America kicked off his shoes, leaving Arthur there. He came back in a dry change of clothes, holding some of his own clothes for England. England did absolutely nothing as the other changed him out of his thoroughly wet and cold clothes.

Alfred carefully picked him up and brought him into the living room to lay him down on the couch. He seemed to be asleep. The larger nation went to bring his space heater and his biggest blanket. Setting up the space heater about four feet away from his couch, he switched it on to full blast. America then took the blanket to wrap it around England. Not only did he do that, but he picked up Arthur as if holding a baby. He sat down on the floor in front of the space heater, covering both of them with the giant blanket as he cradled England in his arms.

There was no response from the older of the two…

Alfred stuck out his tongue to make a face at the bushy-browed Briton.

"… Take that tongue back or else I'll bite it off," England muttered as a threat with his eyes closed.

America chuckled. "You are kind of annoying sometimes."

"Gee, thanks…"

"You are so nitpicky and controlling~"

"Shut up…"

"You yell at me for things that aren't so much of a big deal."

"Little brat…"

"But…" America paused. "I would never want you to stop coming. I didn't mean what I said earlier, Arthur."

The smaller nation cracked open his bright green eyes to look up at America.

With that, Alfred lightly kissed him at the top of his nose, right between the eyebrows.

England sighed, going red in the face a bit. "Y-you're cleaning up that pile of clothes first thing in the morning. Got it?" he asserted.

"You'll have to make me~"

"Trust me, I will."

But the pile of dirty laundry wasn't picked up until two days later. England had caught a cold in the morning, so he couldn't make America do it.


End file.
